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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278698">Burn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k'>ryttu3k</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade - Night Road (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banu Haqim (Vampire: The Masquerade), Blood Bond, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Childe/Sire Bond(s), Diablerie (Vampire: The Masquerade), Dissociation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, POV Second Person, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:26:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian's plans are going to burn you alive.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aila (Night Road)/Lettow Kaminsky, Courier (Night Road)/Julian Sim, Courier (Night Road)/Lettow Kaminsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The blood is screaming in your veins.</p><p>Julian has one hand on your back as you stumble into the trailer. He's wounded too - none of you particularly made it through that fight without a scratch - but you appreciate the comfort and reassurance of your sire's hand.</p><p>Did he notice what you had done? You think he might have caught a glimpse of you as you had straightened up with Reremouse's blood on your lips; might have watched as you coated the karambit in ashes.</p><p>If he did, he's not saying anything. And Lettow, thankfully, seems none the wiser.</p><p>"Well," Julian says as Lettow locks the door behind him, plunging the trailer into darkness before he can fumble for the light switch, "I think that went pretty well!"</p><p>Lettow allows himself a small, pleased smile. "The loss of both my and Pyre's cars aside," he says amicably, "It did indeed. And I believe a material loss is an acceptable sacrifice."</p><p>Julian digs into the cooler in the unused kitchen, withdrawing a few blood packs. He tosses one each to you and Lettow; you nearly drop yours, your hands trembling a little from the ancient vitae in your veins.</p><p>It's worse than usual, the preserved blood. How could it not, given what you've just tasted? You can feel the remains of Reremouse within you; it feels like a firebrand. Aila was an elder, but one just that much closer to humanity. Consuming Reremouse feels like you've drank the moon.</p><p>"Yeah. I think this calls for a celebration," Julian says, and slings an arm over your shoulder. "What say we have some of Doctor Caul's Miracle Medicine, push the beds together, and fuck Pyre until he forgets his own name?"</p><p>The sip of blood you've just taken almost comes out your nose.</p><p>Lettow blinks, once then twice, slowly like the words have to trickle in. Then he turns to you. The look he's casting in your direction is speculative, confused, fascinated; there's heat in it, enough to send the stolen blood flushing to your cheeks.</p><p>"Well," Lettow says slowly, "That certainly is one way to celebrate."</p><p>You wonder how discretely you can stamp on Julian's foot.</p><p>You're on his side, and Julian is well aware of it. He knows you trust him and his vision for a better future, that you have no love for the Camarilla and its traditions, and you know that he knows the crush you're developing on Lettow like a slow burn mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.</p><p>A small, cynical part of you is remembering his words earlier. You can still remember the dubious tone in your own answer - <i>"Are you recommending I seduce the Prince of Tucson?"</i></p><p>God, what is Julian trying to do to you?</p><p>"Well, Pyre? What do you think?" Julian teases, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His fangs scrape the back of your neck, and you feel the blood trickle into your collar, feel the swipe of Julian's tongue as he laps it up. He nips the shell of your ear, and murmurs, "Do you think he tastes like Aila?"</p><p>An involuntary sound, like a moan crossbred with a whimper, bursts from your lips. "<i>Yeah</i>."</p><p>Julian flashes a grin at Lettow. "I think he likes the idea!"</p><p>You're dizzy, half drunk. Yeah, you cooperate when Julian drops your jacket unceremoniously to the floor and drags the hoodie over your head, but it's a pliant, dazed sort of cooperation; you know that he's calling the shots and feel yourself melting and complying to it. When he kisses you with soft lips and sharp teeth, it feels like surrender, tastes like the desire to please that's been written in your blood since you first tasted him.</p><p>You want to taste him again. The Embrace is hazy in your memory (you weren't exactly running on full blood capacity at the time); now you just want to sink your fangs into him and drink until your blood stops burning.</p><p>You want him, want them both, to hold you down and use you, to wring pleasure from your body. Want to find it in theirs. The only payment you want is blood, to taste them, let their very essences become a part of you. You want them in you, and you're not just talking dick.</p><p>Julian pushes you backwards. You hit the bed and pull him down on top of you, crashing your lips back together. Your eyes are squeezed shut; his fingers are cold but they're leaving scorch marks on your flesh. When you nip at his lip, he gasps, a brief and too-human reaction.</p><p>He sits up, twining his fingers into your hair, guiding your head to his lap. "Go on," he murmurs, unbuttoning his jeans one-handed; you close your eyes and begin.</p><p>It's mostly for show, the blowjob. You're not sure how much he's getting out of it, even if you know you're pretty good. It's for Lettow's benefit, you think. Show off your submission, how willing you are to suck, how compliant you are as he grips your curly hair and guides your movements.</p><p>You don't mind, honestly. If he was enjoying it, you'd like it even more. But the power play is so overt you almost want to laugh, and frankly it's a little rude to giggle with your mouth full.</p><p>Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lettow stretch, settled back in the trailer's armchair. One arm is flung over the back, the other between his legs, stroking in a bored-looking way. You're almost offended.</p><p>Julian follows your gaze and grins, then pulls you up with him, your legs tangled together. "Let's give him a real show. Dig in," he murmurs, and bears his throat to you.</p><p>You absolutely do not have to be asked twice.</p><p>Julian tastes like Red Bull and battery acid, like Gatorade and gasoline. Something sharp and astringent mixed with such potent energy you get an instant head rush from it. Your mingled blood is effervescent. His hands are light on your hips, then firm against your chest; they tighten on your shoulders.</p><p>You never want to let go. You want all of him, for this pleasure to never end, this joining, this connection.</p><p>He digs his nails in.</p><p>"Pyre. Enough."</p><p><i>Stop</i>, you tell yourself, even as you let pleasure wash over you. <i>Stop!</i></p><p>He's shaking, just a little, when you finally manage to pull away, your lips and chin dripping with his blood and your skin flushed and warm. "Ngh," you say, and collapse against his chest like you're trying to crawl in, barely retaining the presence of mind to lick the wounds shut.</p><p>"Perfect," Julian murmurs, and helps rid you of your pants. You don't think he's talking about you, specifically. "Oh, gorgeous. Lettow, get over here and fuck him stupid."</p><p>You certainly feel stupid, you think as you lie back, your head in Julian's lap (facing the other way around, this time!), displaying yourself like a buffet for Lettow. Not foolish, but dazed, drugged, drunk on blood and sex. You can feel Reremouse burning your veins and Julian in your arteries and you find your gaze fixed on the blood vessels in Lettow's delicate throat as he approaches.</p><p>"Are you sure?" he says conversationally, removing his shredded clothing with mechanical efficiency, leaving them folded over the arm of the chair. "Because I tend not to be gentle."</p><p>"<i>Yes</i>. Please!"</p><p>"Tell me what you want. Use your words."</p><p>"I want you in me."</p><p>Dick, fangs, blood. You don't particularly care which, right now. You want to be fucked, you want him to bite you, you want to bite him, you don't <i>care</i>. There's so much want screaming through your veins, it feels it's going to scorch you from the inside.</p><p>Lettow grabs your thighs with a grip that would be bruising if you were still capable of it, practically bends you in half, and slams home.</p><p>You howl, throwing your head back. (Julian stifles a yelp.) Lettow always seems composed, neat, put together, he has his linen suit and pretty jewellery.</p><p>But he's a Prince. He's a <i>Gangrel</i>. The part of your brain not occupied with being fucked into next week vaguely hopes he doesn't accidentally snap your spine in two.</p><p>Your gaze meets his.</p><p>He looks angelic. An angel of death in white linen and turquoise, an angel of death kissing Julian's blood off your lips. He's haloed by stars, his skin gleaming in the moonlight; the look in his eye is tender as he reaches down to cup your jaw and -</p><p>And -</p><p>He really is touching you, cupping your jaw, pressing the pad of his thumb against your lips, and his expression is soft and pained and bruised. But it's a trailer ceiling above him, not starlight; you're in California, not Gibraltar.</p><p>You're Pyre. You're not Aila. She's dead in your veins, no matter what Lettow thinks he sees.</p><p>But her memories are still alive in you. The way you gasp Lettow's name, that's not your inflection. She's dead and gone, but something in her still exists as you - she - you reach up to cup Lettow's face and draw him into a tender kiss.</p><p>You're breaking apart at the seams. Pyre, Aila, even Reremouse, so loud they're screaming; none of you know if it's Pyre or Aila in your skin, which one of you Lettow keeps kissing like a lover.</p><p>Julian strokes your hair and your blood sings to him. When he bends down, practically shoving Lettow aside, he nips at your ear again and whispers, just to you, "<i>Do it</i>."</p><p>The other option is burning alive. You drag Lettow in, kiss him with bruising heat, and bury your fangs in his throat.</p><p>You can understand why people become ghouls. The taste of vitae, hot and bright on your tongue, better than any drug, like you're being torn apart and rebuilt in his image; if only Lettow would let you drink from him every night for the rest of your eternal life, you would be able to die happy.</p><p>He tastes like sand and smoke and the sky. You're goddamn soaring.</p><p>Julian strokes your hair. Your lodestone blood swings violent between him and Lettow. You've tasted Julian twice now, but it's Lettow, Lettow you're oriented towards now.</p><p>"Enough," Lettow says quietly, and you steel yourself for the greatest show of willpower you've ever displayed and tear yourself from him, kissing the marks away.</p><p>God. You feel dizzy.</p><p>You're having double vision. You can see Lettow above you, see the shift of muscles under his skin, the sheen of crimson sweat. And yeah, you're seeing yourself - yourself-as-Pyre, sprawled on the trailer bed, curly head in Julian's lap; yourself-as-Aila, ancient stone beneath your heated skin and long midnight hair slipping like water through Lettow's fingers.</p><p>You're both of them, they're both of you. Reremouse is silent; this is between you and Lettow, only you don't know which 'you' you are right now.</p><p>"Aila," Lettow whispers, and goes still.</p><p>For an eternal few seconds, no one dares move.</p><p>He pushes himself up. Pulls away, roughly enough that a gasp of pain escapes your lips. "I am going to sleep in the bathroom," he says, and his voice is so, so cold.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>"Lettow," you say, and your voice cracks. "No, don't leave me -"</p><p>He gives you a look like he's been slapped. Like being doused in sunlight, you realise that the words that just slipped from your lips were, "Non, ne me laissez pas -"</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>The bathroom door closes solidly. You hear the lock turn.</p><p>
  <i>Fuck.</i>
</p><p>Julian is watching from the bed, silent. His expression is inscrutable. "The sun's about to rise," he says, and shifts over to make room for you. "Come here, Pyre."</p><p>You obey unthinkingly. Sink against his cool skin, hide the pink-tinged tears threatening to form. Julian wraps his arms around you.</p><p>"They had a blood bond," you say miserably to his chest. "A mutual one. When I drank from him, I think it woke up."</p><p>The sun rises, and you let yourself fall into the abyss.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>"Are you sure?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I have never been so sure of anything in all my years, my love. If you are willing to share in this bond with me, I am willing, and damn what the Tower thinks."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Lettow... beloved, you must stop me if I go too far. The Children of Haqim, we -"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I know. I know. I trust you. I bear my throat to you willingly. I do not believe you will lose control."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Then... let me taste you."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Lettow is already gone by the time you rise.</p><p>You can already feel the absence before your eyes even open. Julian, he's still around; you can hear the shower running.</p><p>But Lettow is gone.</p><p>Slowly, you push yourself up. You can still feel the phantom embrace of the dream, Lettow and Aila under a tapestry of stars, bodies and hearts and blood entwined.</p><p>Aila is sleeping again. But the memory still holds power for you. You still remember every detail - every touch, every taste, every desperate yearning tug into Lettow's gravitational pull. The bond, even just in memory, still makes you feel like something's been ripped out of you by Lettow's departure.</p><p>"Fuck," you say to the empty room.</p><p>Diablerie isn't meant to work like that. It's not like Aila was a methuselah; she was never meant to be strong enough to take you over and blur the lines so thoroughly you're not sure where Pyre ends and Aila begins. You're not meant to reawaken blood bonds with a single sip - not after so long, not so indirectly.</p><p>Still, you can feel it. You can feel, even now, the absence in the pit of your stomach, worse even than hunger.</p><p>The water shuts off. A moment later, Julian emerges, beads of water dripping down the toned chest to disappear into the fabric of the towel. "Don't think I used all the hot water," he says by way of greeting, "Although the last towel there is, like, tiny."</p><p>You give him a look, and perhaps your misery shows, because he softens fractionally.</p><p>"You can't reactivate a blood bond like that," he says, quieter now. "Aila just wasn't strong enough. She couldn't take you over."</p><p>"I remember being her," you finally admit, gazing at the worn blankets. "Like, every day when I sleep. Sometimes even when I'm awake. I don't know who I am any more, Julian."</p><p>He sits carefully at the end of the bed. "What about Reremouse? You feeling any urge to, like, go rip people apart or anything?"</p><p>You shake your head. "It's not the same, I think. We had nothing in common. He was something else at the end, like - something alien. Aila was... too much like me, I think."</p><p>You remember her convictions, the regrets that permeated her existence, her disdain for the Traditions that shape Kindred society. You remember her despair, her fatal ennui. You remember them because you know what it feels like, to wonder what eternity holds for you, how long you can keep going.</p><p>You're not even sure you'd get to her age before wanting to lie down and die. You've been edging towards your true death by inches ever since Julian first claimed you.</p><p>He's quiet until you're back on the road, the stars spread in a tapestry before you, the desert whipping past you. It's too much like other nights. Too much like your other life. In the passenger seat of Julian's car, you draw your legs up to your chest and talk.</p><p>Everything. You tell him everything. All the memories, all the experiences. Every time you've doubted yourself, the very makeup of your identity. Even now, even as you speak, you can feel her; at times, you slip outright into speaking <i>through</i> her, <i>as</i> her, your second-hand recollections slipping into, "And when I - I mean, when <i>she</i> -" more times than you care to admit.</p><p>Before Lettow had arrived, she had stayed quiet. She had existed behind your eyes and under your skin as you had scraped by, accompanying you on every delivery across the country, and her memories had only risen when you had slept. But then you had crossed paths with Lettow fucking Kaminsky, and it turned out Aila did indeed still care, at least a little.</p><p>Lettow.</p><p>"Julian," you say, and your voice trembles a little, "Lettow is going to destroy me."</p><p>You're not being sarcastic. The punishment for diablerie, for something so anathema to the Camarilla, is destruction at the hand of your elders. Even now, you feel sick at the thought of approaching anywhere even remotely near his domain. Lettow is well within his right to call a blood hunt on you, to seek your final death in exchange for Aila's.</p><p>Maybe you deserve it.</p><p>"I have something I need to pick up," Julian says evenly. If he's worried, he's not showing it. "Won't take long. Then we can leave and get set up elsewhere. Anyway, I already have our main asset."</p><p>He's probably talking about himself, or some data, or something along those lines. You nod once, trying not to tremble in your seat.</p><p>Julian keeps driving, sends you deeper into Tucson, and you watch the stars and wait for destruction.</p><p> </p><p>Early evening, again.</p><p>You and Julian had reached Tucson an hour before the sun had risen that morning, and in the predawn light, every flickering shadow had looked like Riga. Julian had brought you back to your cheap shitty bungalow and asked if you had wanted him to stay the night; you had said yes before he had even finished the sentence.</p><p>For a long, long handful of minutes after you had woken up, you had simply laid there, curled up in your sleeping bag in the bedroom closet. You hadn't wanted to face the night, and you're half expecting to open the door to find Lettow standing there with Riga on his shoulder and the curved blade from his office in his hand.</p><p>He's not there. The bewildering crash of relief and disappointment leaves you dizzy for a breathtaking moment. Drawing all your willpower together, you step out of the bedroom and find Julian lounging in the armchair you dragged in from the pavement, flicking through his phone and his feet up on the coffee table.</p><p>(You have a coffee table now. It's very human.)</p><p>"Lettow's requested a meeting," he says by way of greeting, and you freeze on the spot.</p><p>Julian flicks his gaze towards your face, takes in the expression of terror you assume is written there, and grins. "Relax. He's promised no murder. Not without a trial, anyway." He shrugs. "He seems kind of fair, for a Prince."</p><p>A part of you doubts that, but you nod anyway, trying to hide your shaking. "Okay. When and where?"</p><p>"Eight-ish? He says he'll send Riga to direct us to the place." Just for a moment, a hint of uncertainty shows on Julian's face, too. "He asked for me as well. Like, specifically. I guess if you're going down, I am too."</p><p>"Shit," you say, and sink down on the beaten-up dining chair you dragged out of an empty store. "Okay. I guess that's happening." In way too short a time for your liking, frankly. If you and Julian flee now, will you be far enough from the city in time?</p><p>"Mm," Julian says, leaning forward to prop his arms on his knees. "Yeah. Don't have enough time to make the pick-up I need, unfortunately. Assuming Lettow doesn't chop our heads off, we might be able to get them after." He glances out the window, raising an eyebrow. "And assuming the SI doesn't ruin our night."</p><p>You're not sure who's more likely to destroy you at this point, Lettow or the SI. Slowly, you nod. "Julian, what are you actually planning?" you finally say, "And how involved am I?"</p><p>He shrugs. "I'm only going to do the exposition bit once," he says, "Because it's pretty involved. Wait a couple of hours. You'll find out then." Sighing, he stretches, his Internet Explorer tee riding up to expose his stomach. "Do you trust me?"</p><p>"I have no idea at this point."</p><p>"Valid as fuck."</p><p>Time, that evening, is behaving oddly. 6:30 to 6:45 takes about four and a half years, 6:45 to seven o'clock takes ten seconds. You blink and you're crossing the Sonoran in a shitty Mazda, you blink and the shadow of your plane slips over the dunes. It's disorienting to turn your head and suddenly find yourself a century in the past, for your feelings about seeing Lettow to swing between love and fear, devotion and despair.</p><p>7:55. A shadow flits outside your window, and Riga settles on the mail box. You stand, trying not to let your knees wobble too much.</p><p>"Separate cars," Julian says, and before you can remind him that yours is kind of a heap of metal in California, he adds, "I had Nadia bring one around earlier for you, she was watching us for the day shift. Nothing great, but it goes. We'll have four options if we need to get out fast. Anyway, you know Lettow's going to bring most of his fleet."</p><p>"Yeah," you try to say, but your throat is suddenly too dry to speak.</p><p>Julian glances sidelong at you, shakes his head, and leads you out the door, and like a lamb to slaughter, you follow.</p><p> </p><p>It's a tense drive.</p><p>It's not just the SI, but unaffiliated hunters out in force tonight; you're forced to use diversions and distractions, roundabout routes and shortcuts that only your familiarity of Tucson lets you get way with. Always, ever present, Riga waits to lead you from one doom to the next; you shake loose a tail and she appears again, gazing at you impassively through the screen before guiding you onwards.</p><p>And Aila is ever-present, now. The desert beneath your wheels shifts and flickers. Catching a glimpse of your reflection means you're not sure whether you're going to see messy curls and a pale, drawn face, or long smooth locks and dusky skin, never positive whose eyes will be looking back at you.</p><p>You know why she's so awake now, so present.</p><p>Riga is leading you to her tomb.</p><p>Is it just memory you've inherited? Have you absorbed so much of her past that you remember it like your own? Or has something of her soul survived within you, her own views and opinions and feelings fully intact?</p><p>Traffic light. Your hands trembling on the wheel, you whisper, "Aila?"</p><p>There's only silence. You're not sure if you're relieved or disappointed.</p><p>Riga is waiting for you outside the warehouse. A single light burns in one window; Julian is already parked outside, along with a handful of other cars you recognise as belonging to both Julian and Lettow's people. You wonder if it's too late to tear away and flee to Alaska.</p><p>You imagine disappointment on Lettow's face. Betrayal on Julian's. Swallowing past a lump in your throat the size of a car, you step out of the car and walk to your doom.</p><p>Lettow is inside. So is Julian. Both watch you with an intensity that could strip paint. Three chairs, set in opposition to each other; if anyone else is there, they're making themselves scarce.</p><p>You're shaking enough the metal folding chair rattles against the floor when you take a seat.</p><p>"Pyre," Lettow begins, his voice cold and even. He hesitates briefly, and adds, "Aila."</p><p>Nothing calls to him from within you, save that same yearning, and even that you're not sure who it belongs to. Swallowing, you shake your head once. "Just me," you say quietly.</p><p>Slowly, he nods. "But you did do it, didn't you?" he says, and it's a whisper but you hear it like a shout. "You consumed her. You destroyed her, completely and utterly. And all I want to know is why."</p><p>You close your eyes. "Because she wanted me to."</p><p>Julian speaks, now; his hands are raised to placate Lettow the best he can. "You know that she was dead when we found her, right?" he says. "Not slumbering or in torpor or 'destroyed' or anything like that, not any Kindred condition. Aila was dead. Finished. Her will to live was extinguished. You don't want to believe that, though, because you loved her, and she loved you, and wasn't that enough?"</p><p>His smile is almost sad.</p><p>"But it wasn't. She had seen too much, and she was waiting to die. She didn't stop us. She could have. But she didn't. She let us kill her."</p><p>You feel her in your veins like a hum, a reassurance. She had been so tired, and you had recognised that in her even as you had stood over her tomb. She opened her eyes and gazed at you, first not quite comprehending, then in realisation, then in acceptance; she had raised a hand to stroke through your curls as you had drank, and drank, and drank.</p><p>The fire inside her had extinguished. It would never have rekindled.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Lettow," you say softly. "Not for what I did, but for your loss. I'm really sorry."</p><p>She had loved him, and it still wasn't enough, and Lettow looks at you for a long, long moment then bows his head.</p><p>"I know," he says simply, and rises, crossing the floor to you. He lifts your chin and meets your gaze, and you feel stripped naked before it, every thought laid bare and transparent. You feel tears spring to your eyes.</p><p>Lettow bows his head and kisses your tears away, drops the softest of kisses on your lips, and turns away.</p><p>His gaze is vaguely in the direction of the window, but his attention is elsewhere, and you can feel the sands whirl around you. "It's the Beckoning," you say, and your voice is soft and certain. "That's what you're feeling, isn't it? It's calling you."</p><p>He makes a wordless sound. "I am leaving Tucson," he finally says, and the quiet melancholy of the moment snaps into crystalline alarm. "Whatever your plans are, Julian, I urge you to think seriously over whether the risk is worth it, but I will not intervene. My time here has ended. You and the SI can fight it out for control."</p><p>"Wait," you start, forcing your leaden body to rise from the seat, "Don't -"</p><p>He fixes you with a freezing glare, and you're forcibly reminded that he still has the right to destroy you. Perhaps he will, simply for speaking out; perhaps you're too potent a reminder of someone he loved. Your eyes are still hot with tears.</p><p>"Pyre," he says, and your name drops from his lips like it's dirty, "Whatever connection we shared wasn't real. Perhaps if she still lived, I would stay. But you have made it abundantly clear that she is gone. Whatever remains in you of her, I ask you to treasure it. But I will not stay for a tatter of a memory."</p><p>You stand, stand and watch helplessly, stand and watch with your hands limp at your sides, and he walks away and drags your heart out with it.</p><p>"Lettow," you whisper, and your pain tears itself free with a ragged scream. "Lettow!"</p><p>You're about to - you're not sure. Rush out to follow him, throw yourself into his arms. Prostrate yourself before him, kiss his boots, tug at his hems. The blood bond is second-hand but you can feel it all the same, burning you from the inside, the absence of him like something has been torn from inside you.</p><p>Julian is there, faster than breath. He takes your shoulders and pulls you in, rests a hand on your head, and lets you weep.</p><p>By the time you lift your head, you feel exhausted, wrung out like a dry sponge. Your head is still resting on his shoulder, his arms around your waist, and if it was enough to heal the wounds you've suffered tonight, you would find yourself content.</p><p>"He's leaving, isn't he?" you whisper.</p><p>Julian nods. "Yeah. I think he's been fighting it off for a long time."</p><p>You let out a bitter laugh. "And now that he knows Aila is gone, I'm not enough to make him stay."</p><p>But Julian is here. Julian is still here, and he might have left once, but you're not going to let him do it again. Closing your eyes, you say, "You can't leave me. Not like he did. Not like you did before."</p><p><i>Please</i>, you add, unspoken. <i>Please. I couldn't handle it. Please don't leave me.</i></p><p>"Yeah," Julian whispers. "I won't leave."</p><p>"Promise me. Please."</p><p>"I promise."</p><p>You draw back, meet his gaze, study him like a painting. You've never been good at reading Julian - he can lie too fluently, his natural charisma smoothing over the gaps. But he looks sincere, now; you think that, maybe, this time he will stay.</p><p>You close your eyes again. Draw all your determination into your core. And you sink your fangs into his throat.</p><p>Julian starts, then lets out a sound like a whimper. "Pyre," he says, "Pyre, Pyre, god, don't you realise what you've done?" This time, the sound is almost a laugh. "Pyre, you've bound yourself to me. You - you - that's what you wanted, isn't it? This is what you need. For someone to <i>own</i> you. To have what Lettow and Aila had. To belong to someone."</p><p>You rock a little against him, pull him into you. His blood is like forgotten sunlight and restful night, like an inferno, like dreams, like ambition. And god, you're hungry, too; you know you could keep going and going and never stop.</p><p>"Pyre. Stop."</p><p>You stop.</p><p>Eyes still closed, you lick the wound shut, drop a butterfly kiss over his skin. Lick your own lips. You don't dare open your eyes and look at him.</p><p>He laughs again, uncertainly. "God," he repeats, "You've bound yourself. You bound <i>yourself</i>."</p><p>"Yeah," you whisper raggedly.</p><p>You can feel it now. Not just Julian's blood, but something you think may be very much like his soul. It wraps around you, entwines you in its grasp, and you know that you're only going to entangle yourself further and never, ever try to escape it.</p><p>You need him. You've always needed him. You'll always need him.</p><p>And you don't care how artificial the compulsion is, now. You know all too well that Aila and Lettow bound themselves to each other for love (and Lettow, now! You have the real thing now, a <i>true</i> Blood Bond, and Lettow is barely a blip in your thoughts). Your actions were based on love, weren't they? It wasn't simply loneliness, wasn't just fear and desperation and the need to block out the memory of a bond with a real one, was it?</p><p>It's real. It has to be. You're happy, so happy you feel like floating, so safe and secure with him you never want to let go.</p><p>Julian dips his head and kisses you. You return it desperately, passionately, pouring all your need and want into it. Your arms are wrapped around him, and when he picks you up, you wind your legs around his waist too.</p><p>He lays you down on the floor. There's smooth concrete under your back, and you laugh deliriously, because you are lying where Aila's tomb once laid.</p><p>Had she felt like this, this dizzying mix of fear and relief as you gaze up at Julian? Had she realised she was doomed and had welcomed it?</p><p>The sex itself is nothing special. It's just bodies, moving together, grasping and tugging at each other. But it's with <i>Julian</i>, and every part of your body, every undying cell is busy recontextualising itself, writing this into your veins:</p><p>You belong to him now.</p><p>You've never been happier.</p><p>You're happy, as you and Julian slowly dress again, fingers and hands wandering over skin, stealing touches. You're happy as you follow him back out of the warehouse, leaving Aila to her final resting place. When Julian places the GPS tracker in your hands, tells you to play cat and mouse with the SI before meeting at his base, you're happy; when you launch back into the fray, you're happy.</p><p>You're happy.</p><p>"Aila?" you whisper, taking a moment to catch your metaphorical breath after evading another hunter, "Lettow's gone. I don't know if he's ever coming back."</p><p>You swallow, your eyes closed, forehead resting against the steering wheel.</p><p>"It's okay, though, isn't it? I have Julian now. Julian won't leave me like Lettow did. You can rest now."</p><p>Do you feel any different? Do you feel resignation, or resentment, or relief? You can't tell; the only feeling you can draw around you is the joy of the bond you now share with Julian.</p><p>"Sorry," you say, softly, and drive back into the night.</p><p> </p><p>His base is the bungalow next to yours. You give his Hispano-Suiza a raised eyebrow as you pull into your usual spot and walk inside.</p><p>It's a hive of activity. You spot Nadia working two of the laptops, the driver in the gold-trimmed black suit lurking near the windows. More of his retainers, underlings, and general dogsbodies are hurrying back and forth, swapping USBs, murmuring to each other; Julian sits amidst all this activity like the eye of a hurricane.</p><p>You hurry to his side, and Julian turns and smiles. You feel a burst of warmth and joy and delight.</p><p>"Any trouble?" he asks, turning back to his laptop; you shake your head. "Cool. Check this out!"</p><p>'This' turns out to be a holographic map of what you recognise as the Viper, green lines etching out the three-dimensional space above his laptop. With a press of a button, blue floods in; you lean in in fascination.</p><p>"Jasper's shadow spaces," Julian says, and grins. "Cool, huh? He used them to hide Elysium, right? Except he also ended up winding them all through the building. And <i>there</i> -" He points to one of the shadow-rooms, right next to Lettow's office - "Is where I've been doing my work from."</p><p>You give him a look. Perhaps exasperation, if it was still possible to feel that towards him. "You were hiding in the Viper?"</p><p>"Right under Lettow's nose." He gives you a naughty-boy grin. "Anyway, that's our target. There's two things I want - first is a laptop that's been running some calculations for the past..." He waves a hand. "Four or five months or so. The other is a little glass vial with some blood in it. We need those, and then we can get out of here. Let the SI have the Viper and the southwest. It's not our business any more. All I need to finish this is the laptop, the vial, and you."</p><p>You nearly bubble over with joy before the meaning beneath words filter through the miasma of neediness and desire. It didn't matter how much you wanted those words to be <i>all I need is you</i>; he had already insinuated otherwise.</p><p>He had been hiding in the Viper, planning this out for... how long? How far back did this really go? You had been working on <i>something</i> for him, all those years ago when you had first been Embraced; how long had he been working towards a laptop, a vial of blood, you?</p><p>"Julian," you say slowly, "How am I involved in this? What do you need me for?"</p><p>Julian meets your gaze evenly. "I do everything for a reason. Don't get mad."</p><p>"I'm not mad, I just want to <i>know</i>."</p><p>He's still gazing at you with that intense dark stare; you feel lightheaded. "In the long run, the Masquerade is doomed," he begins, as smoothly as an internal monologue, and you sit, and you listen.</p><p>He's shaped you from the start.</p><p>He had picked you out from the crowd, murdered you, and brought you back to something resembling life. He had guided you and moulded you, turned you into what he needed to enact his plans. He had never quailed at the obscenity of diablerie; he had always intended that you would be the one to carry out the deed.</p><p>
  <i>Aila, I didn't know. You were meant to be a sacrifice from the start.</i>
</p><p>And you can't hate him. You can't even be angry at him. Even as he explains what the modified vitae he's created will do to you, you just can't find even the slightest hint of frustration within you.</p><p>You want to scream.</p><p>"What do you need me to do?"</p><p>He smiles. You think of sharks.</p><p>"You're going to use the shadow spaces to get to my work space. The vial is attached to a - you won't know what it is, it's a thing that spins. It has a touch screen, just select the option to disconnect it and grab the vial off it. The data is on a laptop. Put it on a USB if you can, just grab the whole thing if you can't."</p><p>You nod. "What about you?" you ask, because you can already picture the Viper, and more specifically, the SI soldiers that'll be crawling through it.</p><p>"I'm going to take out as much of the SI as possible. Clear a path for you." He cups your cheek, and you lean into it instinctively. "I won't let them destroy you."</p><p>If you were able to think a little more clearly, you would wonder if he cared about <i>you</i>, or just the investment he's put in you as living project. If you were able to look at Julian without a haze of love and devotion clouding your eyes, you would think cynically that his plans are more likely to kill you than the SI is. If you were able to shake yourself free and properly assess the risks, maybe you'd say no.</p><p>But you can't. So you nod, and follow him out the door.</p><p> </p><p>You're tired, and scared, and hurt.</p><p>They had come armed with guns and tasers, blades and flamethrowers. Slipping through the disintegrating shadow corridors inches away from armed mercenaries, a burst of flame had caught the edge of your sleeve; now, a shiny burn mark mars your shoulder and cheek, red raw and smelling of meat.</p><p>You hadn't thought your flesh was still alive enough to smell like meat.</p><p>You can't heal. You're running on empty as it is, your veins dry with the effort to keep yourself safe, to keep yourself invisible, to move fast enough to evade detection, to keep your senses pushed to their maximum. So you need to keep moving through the pain, through the hunger gnawing away at you, crouched like a malignant beast on your shoulders.</p><p>You don't know what the next night will bring.</p><p>But you have a USB in one pocket and a vial of blood in the other, and Julian is waiting for you on the roof. Giving up now simply isn't an option. So you fight the pain and the hunger and keep going and you do not stop.</p><p>There's a fallen karambit on the stairs leading up to the roof. You scoop it up, smooth the pad of your thumb across the flat of the blade. There's blood (human, from the smell) smeared across it; your eyes, already enhanced to their maximum, spot the dark fibres of SI body armour on the outer edge.</p><p>Julian has come this way. You adjust your grip on the karambit and push open the door.</p><p>Tucson isn't nearly as cold as the north, even this late in the year, but the sudden shock of cool air is still a balm after the heat of the Viper (they had <i>flamethrowers</i>). Blinking to adjust to the change in light, your vision resolves:</p><p>Donati, wounded but still standing, a flare gun in her hand.</p><p>Julian, a crumpled and barely visible, glitching, shadowy form a few feet in front of her.</p><p>Your grip tightens.</p><p>"Normally," Donati says, and you can see the injuries that very few humans would survive, and you can see and smell the blood, and you can feel the inhuman power radiating off her; "Normally, I'd love nothing more than to stick your head on a pike and keep you as a trophy. But you're too dangerous to keep around, Sim. So I'm going to end things for you right here."</p><p>You feel like a wrung-out sponge. You're tired, and scared, and hurt. But Julian is in danger, so you draw any last droplets of vitae you can find within yourself and let yourself turn invisible.</p><p>Julian pushes himself up, leaning heavily on one arm. You can see he's barely put together, see the bullet holes and slashes and burns. He's shaking from the exertion, but he's still grinning through his blood-flecked teeth.</p><p>"Sweet, is this the pre-boss battle banter? Do we get theme music? I wanted theme music."</p><p>"Shut the fuck up!" Donati snarls, and yanks a karambit out of her bicep, hurling it away. Silently, you collect it, let yourself become just visible enough to Julian to make a twirling gesture with your finger: <i>make her turn around.</i> He nods, barely perceptible to anyone who isn't you. "You're not walking away from this one. Not this time."</p><p>You're close, now. Close enough that Julian is occluded from view by Donati's broad back. You size her up, working out how high you'll need to jump, how hard you'll need to strike. If you were still alive, you'd be holding your breath.</p><p>If you fuck this up, you and Julian both die messily.</p><p>"Do I get any last words?" Julian asks, as insouciant as someone playing a video game.</p><p>She laughs. "No."</p><p>"Okay." The space of a heartbeat. "Does he?"</p><p>She spins, eyes wide. You jump, lash out with both karambits, the wicked curved blades extensions of your arms. Donati opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out - mostly because her mouth is no longer connected to her larynx.</p><p>Donati hits the ground hard, her head a foot or two away. And like she's suddenly invisible, you drop the karambits, drop your own invisibility, and run to Julian's side.</p><p>"Hey." He's smiling through his bloodied teeth, less cocksure, more tired. "So that was pretty cool."</p><p>"So <i>do</i> we get theme music?" you ask, and laugh, sheer adrenaline and exhaustion leaving you buzzing like you've just licked a power generator. "Are you okay?"</p><p>"Mm." Pushing himself upright, he holds out his hands. "Most of that was for show. You know, the whole killdeer thing - you know that bird that pretends it's injured so it can lead a predator away from its nest?"</p><p>You manage an uncertain smile at that. "Am I the nest?"</p><p>"Yeah. Although usually the nest doesn't fight back. That was pretty cool." He reaches up, trails a hand through your hair, and you turn into it. The adrenaline, the fight is draining out of you; now, all you want to do is sleep.</p><p>You bury your face against his shoulder, breathe in deeply. "What now?" you murmur, your mind on the lightening sky, the SI you can still hear moving through the Viper downstairs.</p><p>When Julian meets your gaze, you see a storm in it. "I'm not badly hurt. But you are," he says, and bares his throat. "Come here."</p><p>Drinking from him is a privilege, a sacrament laid at your feet. The taste of his blood, rich and hot and strumming with vibrancy, ignites your own; you can feel comfort and reassurance as your own injuries start to knit together. You think tears are gathering as you prepare to pull away.</p><p>Julian's hand tightens in your hair. "Pyre," he says steadily, "Keep going. Don't stop."</p><p>Your eyes fly open. And no, you <i>can't</i> stop, not now, not any more; Julian's blood is dancing across your tongue like ambrosia, like he's heroin and you're an addict, like the freshest, purest water and you're a man dying of thirst. You really are crying, now.</p><p>He's clinging to your hair, stroking your back. "Take it all," he whispers. "Everything. Take everything. Make me a part of you. Oh, Pyre. You're so scared, aren't you? You're so afraid to embrace your true nature."</p><p>You're trembling. Weeping. You can't pull away, not like this, caught between the irresistible force of the blood bond and the immovable object of your thirst and desire.</p><p>"This was always meant to happen," he says.</p><p><i>Do you love me?</i> you think, and hope you never hear the answer.</p><p> </p><p>The sky is growing light.</p><p>You're on your back, on the roof of the Viper, and the night sky is growing light. Beside you, Julian Sim is a pile of bones in a ruined hoodie, you're holding the note that dropped from his fingers as you drained his soul from his veins, the tears are drying on your face.</p><p>The sky is growing light, and you can think clearly for the first time in twenty years.</p><p>He had manipulated you from the start. From the very moment of your embrace, he had shaped you.  If he ever loved you, it was with acquisitional love; you were something to show off, to parade around as his creation.</p><p>Donati had referred to you, when you had first entered the Viper earlier that night, as 'Sim's creature'. And the worst part was, you had put <i>yourself</i> in that position.</p><p>The blood bond. You had been so afraid to be alone that you would have subsumed your own will if it meant he would keep you. How much of that had been the natural connection between sire and childe, and how much had been your own desperate dependency, you'll never actually know.</p><p>Pushing yourself up, you gaze at the eastern sky.</p><p>Lettow is gone. But you never had that real connection with him either, had you? Attraction, certainly. But you had consumed Aila, and her love, her own bond, it had persisted within your blood.</p><p>Julian is gone. He had met his final death at your fangs. His body lies beside you, ripped hoodie and bloody sneakers and sightless eyes.</p><p>Your hands don't tremble as you unfold the note.</p><p>
  <i>Pyre,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>If you're reading this, then you've gone all 'monch monch souls' and gobbled me up. Congratulations! If this was a game you'd get an achievement or something.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But yeah it's worked out a bit weird. For one thing, I wasn't expecting the blood bond. It's pretty useful, though. I suspect you're going to be a bit resistant to this (were a bit resistant? idek I'm still waiting for you to get back up to the roof while I'm writing this), and this way I can just order you to do it. Useful!</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Thing is, it was always meant to happen. I needed you from the start, you see. Someone malleable enough to guide the right way, and loyal enough to see it through to the end. And when you started talking about how Aila was sticking around, I started thinking, well, what if you had all my knowledge and memories and convictions too?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>So yeah. You have all the ingredients. You have Aila (and Reremouse was a pleasant surprise but hey if it works...) and you have my guidance and you have me, and if everything went well by the time you're reading this, you have all my data on the laptop and a vial that has the vitae I made for you. It's going to help you s t r e t c h yourself. You're gonna be so much more than just one random-ass neonate bumming around for spare change. You're gonna be the future.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Don't feel bad about munching my soul. It's part of it too. Just according to keikaku. (Translator's note: keikaku means plan.)</i>
</p><p>Fucking Julian. <i>Fucking</i> Julian. You think you can almost feel him laughing from within you.</p><p>
  <i>Anyway. Talk to Nadia and she'll give you access to my accounts and stuff. Be cool if you could keep her on too, she's pretty useful. Either way, you're the one who's going to carry all this shit on. There's no 2100 Program without you. You're the future.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Donati's on her way up. Gonna try to fuck her up as much as I can before you get here, see if I can clear the way for you a bit.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Good luck.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Don't fuck up.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Julian</i>
</p><p>The paper slips from your numb fingers and you follow it, crumpling to your knees besides Julian.</p><p>"You really planned all of this, huh?" you say, and you're laughing, and crying, and want to dance, and want to throw up. You're the future. You're the culmination of everything. You're the end product of Julian's plans. You're the 2100 Program.</p><p>Machiavelli would be proud.</p><p>Maybe this is what it means, to be Kindred. To weave plots so deep and detailed you don't know the difference between machination and fate. How much of your unlife has been planned to the last detail? How many years have you just been a puppet?</p><p>You force yourself to turn to Julian, to the shape and curve of his skull, to the sightless sockets gazing at the lightening sky. He had planned this, for you to become more than you were: Pyre, Aila, Reremouse, Julian. Memories, phantom sensations, slither through your blood.</p><p>It's nearly dawn. You need to retreat, let others learn what happened here. Find the bodies of the SI soldiers, find Donati's decapitated corpse, find Julian's skeleton. It's going to be messy. You're going to have to get out of Tucson, you think, and pray that no one ever learns your indiscretions.</p><p>And then what?</p><p>You laugh, a hoarse little sound, and lie down beside Julian, cradling his skull like a gift. The blood bond is gone now, the sickening, saccharine, artificial forced love you were consumed with, and you can see him for who he is - someone who dreamed too big, who hurt you in the process of trying to save you.</p><p>You kiss his forehead. He's a flawed creature, as much as any of you are. You're done with his plans, but no - no, you're not angry.</p><p>You think of Lettow, flying east. Shake your head. Nothing to be done about it now. You and Aila can let him go.</p><p>Sighing, you curl into Julian's bones and turn your gaze to the sky, and smile.</p><p>It's going to be a beautiful sunrise.</p>
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